Introduction
I started rock climbing when I went to college at CU in Boulder, Colorado in 1980. It seized me. I was initially motivated by Galen Rowell’s photos of Half Dome that I’d seen in National Geographic magazine when I was 16 years old. I wanted to develop the skills to climb that face. Soon after, the influential Fifty Classic Climbs of North America was published, and it directed my climbing for the next twenty years. I’d schedule each year meticulously, parceling out my holidays and vacation days to maximize my time towards these routes, at first training and developing the skills and then launching my attempts. I was so dogmatic about it that one friend dubbed me “the Plan Man.”
Fast forward nearly forty years and my drive, while still there, has been reduced quite a bit. Now, my wife, Sheri, has been bitten by a desire. Not climbing, though she’s done a lot of that, including all Colorado’s and California’s 14ers, but thru-hiking. Motivated by the book Wild by Sheryl Strayed and other accounts, she planned a 75-mile hike on the Colorado Trail with two girlfriends and then turned her sights on the John Muir Trail in the Sierra Nevada of California – a 212-mile route from Mt. Whitney to Yosemite Valley.
The JMT, as it is known by the cognoscenti, was named for John Muir, the first president of the Sierra Club, though he played no part in envisioning the trail or finding the very complicated route that follows the Sierra Crest over eight passes. The most unique aspect of this route is that it crosses no road of any kind. No paved, no gravel, no 4WD roads. No motorized anything. Most of the trip is far from a paved road and this aspect makes resupply a key part of the planning. While the trail has been run in less than four days, most take three weeks or more and must resupply multiple times, sometimes with day-long side trips out to civilization.
I was excited that Sheri wanted me to join her on this hike. Her drive for this seemed to initially come from a women-empowerment position, given her initial motivation and first forays. She must have decided that it was time in the mountains that was important and having her husband along might not be too awful, as long as I pulled my weight. And, initially, I didn’t.
I was no longer the Plan Man. Sheri was the Plan Ma’am. She got the very-difficult-to-obtain permits. She scheduled, packed, and mailed the resupply bucket. She booked the hotel at our start and our shuttle to the trailhead. She also drove out and back. I did almost nothing. It was great to have someone else doing the planning and driving the expedition forward. It was the first time in my life that has happened…
My duties would come once out on the trail. I carried the bulk of the weight, being 40 pounds bigger than Sheri, and I frequently carry heavy climbing packs. I also did the cooking (boiling water – my specialty!) and pumped our water. I used the Guthook application on my phone in my job as chief navigator, ably backed up by Sheri. The entire route is well marked, so this wasn’t much of a challenge. My key daily job was to find an awesome camp spot. I succeeded ten nights out of twelve. I’d blame the terrain for my two failures, but then I’d have to credit the terrain for all my successes.
We’d first planned this trip for two years ago and even had a permit, but Sheri’s Achilles tendon flared and an adventure of this magnitude was out of the question. Last year the pandemic ruled all. COVID-19 isn’t gone, but Sheri wasn’t going to be denied any longer.
Sheri went online exactly six months, to the second, before our intended start date and applied for the easier-to-get-but-still-difficult south-to-north permit starting at Horseshoe Meadows, south of Mt. Whitney. The traditional and more common way to do the JMT is to start in Yosemite Valley (4000 feet in elevation) and build your fitness and acclimatization throughout the trip so that you are ready to summit Mt. Whitney (14,505 feet) by the end. We elected to skip Mt. Whitney as we’d both already climbed it multiple times. We’d miss out on only six miles of the JMT on the southern end. But we also elected to finish at Red’s Meadow, missing 60 miles of the JMT to Yosemite. This was a necessary adjustment due to our restriction of doing this trip in two weeks, house to house, while still making the trip an enjoyable adventure and not an ultra-distance ordeal.
Getting There
We left town Friday at 4 p.m. to get a jump on the 16-hour drive to Mammoth Lakes, California. This was where we’d leave our car and then return to after exiting at Red’s Meadow. Sheri does almost all the driving whenever we road trip. I like to read, write, navigate, etc. while Sheri is happy driving.
I found a dirt road outside of Green River and we slept in the back of our Jeep, sparing no expense for Sheri’s dream trip (travel trip: don’t visit the McDonald’s in this town). The next day we completed the drive and checked into the Quality Inn only to discover they had no air conditioning. At 7000+ feet, it shouldn’t need AC very often. It was warm that night, but we had a fan, and it was fine.
We awoke early the next morning to take our final shower, complete our packing, and get some hotel breakfast. Luckily, we were able to leave our car in the underground garage the entire time. I weighed myself that morning: 167.7 pounds.
Sheri booked our ride to the trailhead through Eastside Shuttle Service. I don’t recommend them. The owner is unorganized, forgetful, and clueless. The driver picked us up a bit late. He was a large man with an equally large black dog. No worries, as we should have only three passengers in the van. Except there was already one guy in there. And we needed to pick up two more guys. And the driver knew nothing about Fadi, who had made arrangements with us to share the shuttle and split the price. We had to go back and pick up Fadi after the driver called the owner, who at first claimed to know nothing about Fadi, despite having talked to him and confirmed the pick-up. We had to reverse direction to get Fadi. It was a crowded ride south, but it all worked out great. The dog, Sam, was remarkably mellow and unperturbed to take his place on the floor between Sheri’s seat and mine.
We got to the trailhead a bit after 10 a.m. and were hiking at 10:15 a.m. We’d weighed our packs at the hotel. Mine was 46 pounds and Sheri’s was 31 pounds. More than we had hoped for, but we didn’t have too many extras. Food is heavy and we carried nine days' worth.
Sunday, July 25th: Day 1 – Cottonwood Pass
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We figured this would be one of our toughest days. We only had one sizable climb, the 1000-feet Cottonwood Pass (11,160 feet), but we had to do 14 miles with our heaviest packs, and we couldn’t start until after 10 a.m. We needed to make it to Rock Creek because there was a bear box there that we could put our overflow food into. We got seven days of food into our three bear containers (required for the JMT) but had two days we couldn’t fit. We’d eat one day’s worth of food on this day but had to store the second day’s food in the bear box and, hence, had to make it there.
It was exciting to take the first steps on our 170-mile journey to Red’s Meadow. The weather was great, and we set off with high hopes. Sandy ground for most of this first day made for dirty feet and legs but relatively soft ground. I was surprised to see no ground cover here, at all. Just large trees. No shrubs, no bushes, no flowers, no grass. Pea gravel and large, sometimes huge, trees.
The first part of our trip wouldn’t even be on the JMT. We’d merge with that trail mid-way through our second day. Once there the terrain would change to rockier ground and more diverse flora.
My Guthook app marked the location of all water sources, though at first, I didn’t recognize that some of them were intermittent or seasonal. Sheri had read on the JMT Facebook page that hikers said there was “water everywhere,” so I wasn’t that concerned. This was a mistake. We passed by the only water source of the day because the trail didn’t cross it. Water was just a hundred yards away, but my app showed numerous other sources (all intermittent) ahead. Each one was dry.
Our plan was to keep our loads lighter by only carrying minimal water at any time, filling up with frequent stops. Hence, we both started with only our 20-ounce bottles filled. After nine miles, with five miles still to go, the situation was acute. Sheri had a kidney-stone operation a year ago that was caused, partly, to deydration. The operation was particularly rough, and Sheri had extreme motivation to avoid a repeat of that procedure. She was now quite thirsty and stressed about possible damage to her kidneys. I was parched, but I’ve been in much more desperate situations. I gave Sheri my water, but it wasn’t enough. We were off to a tough start, and it was my fault.
While taking a break, two guys walked by us, headed the other direction – towards the water source, at Chicken Lake, we knew existed. They were three miles from the lake, and each carried two full water bottles (clear, Smart-Water containers that seemed to be extremely popular) on the outside of their packs. I caused Sheri’s water problem and it was up to me to solve it. Sheri is reluctant to ask for help. I am as well, but this wasn’t for me; it was for her. I spoke up.
“Hi, guys. Any chance you can spare some water?” They hesitated at first. I said, “I screwed up and passed by the only water three miles back and my wife is dehydrated.” One guy immediately pulled a bottle off his pack and handed it to her. I get emotional at these kind gestures of helping people in need. We had money with us to use at our resupply and at our finish. I wanted to convey my gratitude more concretely than my profound thanks, so I said, “Can I pay you for it?” They just laughed. I promised to pay it forward.
With Sheri’s bottle filled once again, the rest of the day was less stressful. Still, it was long and we arrived at Rock Creek just before 6 p.m. We had a great spot right by the creek and the bear box was nearby. We were in the woods, with no view, but that was okay as we were just going to eat dinner and go to sleep anyway. I ended up doing the 14-mile hike on just 20 ounces. I was fine but drank a lot that evening. The Facebook crowd wasn’t wrong about “water everywhere,” as we weren’t on the JMT yet.
Monday, July 26th: Day 2 – Guyot Pass and Mt. Guyot
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The next morning, we fell into a routine that we’d keep for the entire hike. I’d get up at 5:30 a.m., just as it got light enough to see without a headlamp. In fact, I only used my headlamp a few times on the entire trip, mainly to pee in the middle of the night. Sheri never turned hers on. Deadweight? Probably good to have, just in case.
Each morning I’d exit the tent, retrieve our bear canisters containing our food, and make coffee. I’d pass a mug into the tent for Sheri, along with her breakfast, which mostly consisted of an energy bar or Poptarts. We seem to be busy doing stuff, but it generally took us until 7 a.m. before we started hiking.
We weren’t in any hurry. We had a rough schedule for the trip and knew about how many miles we wanted to hike each day. This averaged out to around 13 miles per day. With all our breaks, this would take seven hours or more, but we’d still be stopping in the early afternoon. Obviously, we have plenty of daylight left, but with our loads, that was enough hiking for the day.
The JMT was a new experience for me. I’ve never really been a “hiker,” despite doing a lot of hiking. A good portion of my “trail running” is hiking, but I consider that a run. Almost all my other hiking was in service to a summit. If I ever went backpacking, it was to bag a peak. What’s the point of just walking around in the woods? Especially if you are walking by a peak. Who wants to say, “I’ve walked by all the Colorado 14ers!”? Hence, I resisted this notion. My plan was to bag a peak each day. You’d think, at my advanced age, I’d be smart enough and experienced enough to recognize the folly here…
Our pass for this day was Guyot Pass (10,900 feet) and above the pass was Mt. Guyot, which rose 1400 additional feet. As it was early in the day, the weather looked good, and Sheri didn’t mind, I dropped my pack behind a boulder and set off for the summit. I didn’t carry anything with me besides my phone. The terrain was pleasant. Steep enough for an efficient ascent but soft enough to allow me to trot down. I made the top in 40 minutes, traveling along the rocky ridge until I was sure I’d bagged the summit, knowing my buddy Homie would be studying my GPS track meticulously.
I trotted back down to my pack, hoisted it, and set off to meet Sheri. She would be stopping at the junction with the JMT proper. I found her sitting in the grass in Crabtree Meadow, just before a creek, at the JMT junction. It was nearly noon and a good time for lunch. We lounged.
We hiked to the High Sierra Trail junction and then another half mile further to camp on the banks of Wright Creek (how could we resist?). We got the tent set up just before the rain hit. This would be a trend over the next six days. We ate dinner in the tent when it started raining again.
This was the night that we discovered that one of our sleeping pads had a slow leak. It was slow enough where we couldn’t find it (we had a patch kit), but it went flat in an hour or two, though not completely flat. Just wherever you laid on it. Being just our second night out, this sucked. It was the smaller pad, so had been for Sheri, but since we couldn’t solve this problem, we rotated who slept on it each night. It became a nice perk whenever you had the good mattress, and we’d invariably sleep better on it. I generally didn’t even bother blowing it up in the middle of the night and just toughed it out (read: too lazy to get off it and re-inflate it). Sheri would blow it up 2 or 3 times a night. We’d generally be in the tent before 8 p.m. anyway, so we were getting plenty of horizontal time each night and lots of rest.
Tuesday, July 27th: Day 3 – Forester Pass and Mt. Stanford
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Mt. Stanford Strava
On our third day, we were headed for Forester Pass (13,153 feet), the highpoint of the JMT for us (the real highpoint is Mt. Whitney, of course). We took our first break at Tyndall Creek, then climbed five more miles up to the amazing notch that formed the pass. Looking up at the mountain wall in front of us as we approached Forester Pass, I thought it should go up to the gentle saddle on the right, but the slope below it looked very loose, and I saw no sign of switchbacks there. Then I thought it must be to the left, out of sight, as it couldn’t be going up the rock wall in front of me, to the tiny, sharp cleft in the ridge, as that looked like a climbing route. We even asked a hiker on their way down and they pointed off to our left. Yes, we must not be able to see it yet, I thought. Nope. It was the climber’s col. The trail is quite amazing here as it works its way up the steep rocky slope to squeak by the two imposing Aiguilles on each side. This inability to identify the pass would repeat itself over the next few passes until we eventually picked out the most improbable route as the likeliest route.
It was very calm at the col, and we took a nice lunch break. Sheri’s job each morning was to select the food that we’d snack on throughout the day. For me, it was a little surprise to see what was in my lunch bag (Ziplock) when I examined its contents at lunchtime. Each day we had a small tortilla with peanut butter, among our other food. This simple peanut-butter burrito was a highlight and never failed to hit the spot.
We descended a couple of miles down to camp at 11,000 feet, below the 13,973-foot Mt. Stanford. This was the one peak that even Sheri talked about climbing on this trip. She offered it up because, 1) it was one of the highest in California (19th highest, depending upon how you count), and 2) it was named after my and Danny’s alma mater. The sight of the peak, though, was foreboding, with 3000 vertical feet of gain over, what looked to be, mostly loose ground. Sheri blanched. Our plan was to do it the next morning, but with her out, I decided to attempt it that afternoon, hoping the inevitable rain would hold off until later that evening.
I left for Stanford at 2:20 p.m. carrying Sheri’s pack with just a shell, hat, gloves, one 20-ounce water bottle that I’d refill a couple of times, and some food, most of which I didn’t eat. I told Sheri I hoped to do the roundtrip in four hours, getting back around 6:30 p.m. I set off up an easy, grassy ramp to some smooth, rock slabs. After fifteen minutes the terrain would turn to talus and then loose talus over a glacier that I didn’t realize was there. Hiking on such talus, some of it consisting of car-sized blocks, is very stressful, as nearly one in every three rocks, regardless of their size, moves. Then the weather started to threaten.
The next four hours were amongst the most unpleasant of my climbing career. Acutely aware of how isolated I was, I was extremely alert to hurting myself. Yet, I had to move quickly to be down in time not to get caught in a storm or worry Sheri unduly. The constant attention coupled with the indecision of whether to continue or retreat was mentally exhausting.
Once atop my initial rise, I had to descend to a big tarn, surrounded by talus, to get around a steep rib descending from the adjacent mountain. I then entered the glacial cirque and onto the rock glacier, which had some extremely dangerous ridges. I crossed two of these with great care and stress. On my way down I chose a better route where I only had to cross a single ridge. The steep, super loose sides of these ridges are not places to linger. My fear of getting trapped under a moving boulder had me thinking of my friend Dave Mackey and his horrible accident on our local Bear Peak. He lost his leg when a boulder moved on him. Thinking of him made me more careful, but it didn’t make me safe. I couldn’t be safe on this terrain.
Doing this stuff solo is so much more intimidating than with a partner. Sans a rope, it seems to defy logic, but it’s true, as any solo mountaineer knows.
I transitioned off the rock glacier and onto the slopes of Mt. Stanford, but the rock remained very loose, only the terrain was a lot steeper now. Across the cirque I could see the exposed ice of the glacier as it lapped at the base of the next peak, opening a bergschrund. Spontaneous rockfall occurred over there regularly, adding to my anxiety, though my peak was quiet, except for the rocks I dislodged and dislodge I did.
Most of the rocks moving on me were annoying, but high on the steep face, I pulled on a block to my left and a person-sized rock came off. It cascaded down the face, causing a chain reaction of other blocks to fall. The cacophony of the tumbling debris shook me to the core. I knew that any mistake on my descent would kill me. The terrain was mostly 3rd class, but I did some 4th class and even some 5th class moves in an effort to climb on more solid terrain.
I hit the summit ridge and turned westward, dropping into a notch and then climbing, extremely carefully, the final 200 feet to the summit, where I found a summit register. I was so thankful that I was on top, as any movement on the knife-edged ridge on such loose rock would have terrified me. I was quite ill at ease on the summit, knowing what was below me.
I’d made the top in 2h11m. The descent would take longer, as I double-checked each handhold and desperately tried to reverse my route on the complicated face. I’d passed a few cairns, though I wasn’t sure they were the best route down. Still, I tried to reverse my route as much as possible. Once down to the rock glacier, I took my safer route back to the tarn. Once there, I still had talus to climb, but this talus rested on firm ground, not a moving glacier, and, while still potentially dangerous, was much less stressful. Heck, solid talus is one of my favorite types of terrain, as I have hundreds of miles of talus in my legs and used to pride myself in how I can move across it.
I made it back down to Sheri at 6:50 p.m., late enough to cause her some stress, but she saw me at least ten minutes before I arrived. While waiting for me at camp, she met a young man wearing a Stanford Club Tennis cap. She asked what year he graduated and then asked if he knew Daniel Wright. He responded, “Danny Wright! He was my RA! And the captain of the club tennis team.” That was so cool and when Sheri told me this, I descended a bit to his camp, and we chatted. Hearing nice things about our son was a highlight. It had been an eventful day.
We had rain that night, but we were snug in our tent.
Wednesday, July 28th: Day 4 – Glen Pass
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Sheri had a rough night on “Leaky”, our nickname for the defective pad. After coffee and a rare hot breakfast (we had two dehydrated breakfast meals), we packed up and descended down Vidette Meadows. What followed was one of our toughest climbs.
Glen Pass (11,978 feet) wasn’t the highest or the most vertical, but it was very steep and very rocky on the far side, which was tough on our feet. We took a breather at the pass and had lunch for the day. We were now looking down on the awesome Rae Lakes basin.
After such a long preceding day, I was happy to stop before 3 p.m. when we found an incredible campsite right at the shore of the lower lake. The site had some trees for shelter, big granite rocks for organizing, and a small beach! We washed out some clothes here, hoping to dry them in the sun, but rain stuck again, this time trapping us in the tent for nearly four hours. We emerged at 7 p.m. to cook and eat a late dinner.
Thursday, July 29th: Day 5 – Pinchot Pass
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The next morning, I fell back asleep after my alarm went off, and didn't get up until 6. Still, we were hiking just past 7 a.m., but with our coffee mugs in hand. This was quite pleasant, and I did this one other morning.
After completing our descent, we had a 7-mile, 3500-foot climb up to Pinchot Pass (12,130 feet). We weren’t sure if our legs and the weather would allow our passage this day or if we’d have to camp before topping out. This would be our fifth pass in as many days, with another the following day. Passes and weather dictate everyone’s movement along the JMT. Many hikers stop early at the base of passes, planning to go over them early in the morning. With the consistent afternoon rain, getting over this pass so late in the day was unlikely.
On these long climbs we didn’t chat much and sometimes were separated a bit, each going at our own pace. Sheri started listening to music on her phone for the first time and it helped so much. This was a revelation to her, and from then on was part of her daily routine, at least on the climbs. I rarely listened to music, preferring audiobooks. During this adventure, I re-listened to a great book on the American presidents by Kenneth Davis. Halfway through I had all the presidents memorized and would recite them to Sheri each morning. After a couple of days of doing this Sheri would start me off and go as far as she could through our presidential history. By the end of the trip, she nearly had them all memorized as well.
I also memorized the first 112 elements. Reciting these, along with the presidents, became part of our early morning routine. We love the first few miles in the morning. We didn’t see many other hikers and enjoyed the amazing views and the cool temperatures. After we woke up, I’d go through both elements and presidents, with Sheri starting me off. I also listened to “What Is Life?” and “Infidel.” I was trying to exercise my mind along with my body.
Climbing up to this pass was the only time I used poles on the entire trip. The climb was so long and some of the steps so big that I wanted help pushing up. The closer we got to the pass the fewer camping spots were ahead of us. Once we got within three miles, the race was on, as we were committed. We eliminated one of our breaks and kept moving under threatening skies. We topped out 13.1 miles into our day and past 2 p.m., but we made it.
We camped as soon as we could, just 1.5 miles down from the pass at beautiful Marjorie Lake. We had some sunshine and I spread out our rainfly to dry it. We were once again, right on the lake. But also once again, we had rain. This time it came late at night, from 10-11 p.m. While short-lived, it was a huge, violent, scary electrical storm. We weren’t right underneath it, based on the delay between lightning and thunder, but when the clap hit, it seemed to shake the ground. The lightning lit up the tent so completely when it first came that I had time to ask Sheri, “Was that your headlamp?” before the thunderous answer from Mother Nature. So much for drying out the fly.
Friday, July 30th: Day 6 – Mather Pass
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The next morning, we continued our descent from Pinchot Pass. Next up was Mather Pass (12,100 feet). We took a break at the low point, to eat and get water. Just as we started hiking, we saw our only bear of the trip at the start of this climb. I shot a video of this smallish, brown-furred bear. We were glad to at least see a bear since bringing the bear canisters was such a pain.
Only the hard-shelled bear canisters are allowed on the JMT. The “bear bag” that Sheri used on the Colorado Trail wasn’t allowed. These canisters come in two sizes: small and large. At first, we got just one canister, thinking that would be enough because these things are huge. It was not. Once we started packing the food, we could see it was hopeless. We bought a small one, half the size of the large one, for Sheri to carry. That would surely do it…right? Wrong.
It wasn’t until we packed the four days of food to ship to the resupply at MTR (Muir Trail Ranch) that we fully realized how much space food takes up. And how heavy it was. I meticulously entered all our food into a spreadsheet to calculate the weight, calories, and density, in calories per gram, of all our food items. For a previous dieting goal (just to see how hard it was to lose weight), I was well familiar with the weight of the three food groups: 4 calories per gram for carbohydrates and protein and 9 calories per gram for fat. Hence, the more fat we could carry the less weight we’d have to carry.
Our density food was Macadamia nuts at 7 calories per gram. Later, my friend Greg would tell me how he’d carry a bottle of pure olive oil (pure fat, so 9 calories per gram), but none of our food was more 7 calories per gram and most around 4 calories per gram, including our cheese which I thought would be primarily fat, but apparently has plenty of lactose (sugar, so carbohydrate, and 4 calories/gram) and probably some water as well. After entering all our food, which came out to just 2400 calories per person per day, I realized not only would we not be able to fit it all into our bear canisters, but that it was starvation rations.
I’d be carrying, on average, 40 pounds and hiking, on average, 13-14 miles per day with at least 2000 feet of climbing. That alone burns probably 3000 calories. Just sitting on my butt all day, at 168 pounds (of raw tiger meat stretched over steel, as my dad would say about himself), I’d burn around 2000 calories. So, I needed 5000 calories per day to avoid not losing weight. That was going to be impossible to carry. That was okay, as the fat roll around my middle could use some reduction anyway. The numbers said I’d lose between 8 and 10 pounds during the 12.5-day trek. That turned out to be very accurate, as I weighed myself the day I got out from the JMT at 158.0 pounds – down 9.7 pounds. A pound or two of that could have been dehydration, so I lost exactly what I calculated I would lose.
During our trek, I was never hungry. I ate until I was full each dinner. I snacked constantly throughout the day. I lost 10 pounds with no hardship, no hunger pangs, no discipline. Diet fads are a constant of our society, with many contradicting each other. While some shysters are probably really motivated to help others live a healthier life, I'm convinced all these diets are garbage. No study can prove their effectiveness. Well, none has to date and probably none will because to do a real study you have to sequester your subjects. Humans don't go for that. Plus, every human's gut biome is unique, which is why diets don't have the same effect on different people. The only sacred truth is: calories in, calories out. There is no getting around the second law of thermodynamics. Cranks will talk about hormones and genes and, while they have an effect at the margins, and maybe for some unique medical conditions, no one gets to violate thermodynamics.
Finally, it is interesting to note that my diet was not sustainable, despite my lack of hunger. I was running a huge calorie deficit each day and losing weight. Eventually, probably within another week, I'd be getting hungry, my energy would fade, and my pace would drop. I'd need a different strategy to do one of the longer thru-hikes like the PCT, AT or Continental Divide Trail. I'd probably need to start drinking olive oil.
The JMT struck me as an ideal weight-loss program because you cannot cheat. In order to eat more, you must carry more, which means you’ll burn more calories. More importantly, once you leave the trailhead, there’s no way to eat more than you’ve got unless you fish or forage. I highly recommend this program, though it still takes willpower to finish the trail. It’s logistically difficult to quit, though.
Once I did all this food calculation, I then did an Internet search on how much backpacking food weighs. I found that, generally, 2500 calories weigh 1.5 pounds. That very closely matched our mix of food. So, 1.5 pounds per person per day. For our first nine days, before we got to our resupply at MTR, our food weighed 1.5 times two people (Sheri and me) times nine days, or 27 pounds. And it wouldn’t come close to fitting in 1.5 bear canisters. We bought a second large canister, and now had two and a half canisters. It still didn’t fit. We had to remove our freeze-dried meals from their bulky foil packages and put them in a Ziplock bag. We put the empty foil packages, flat, at the bottom of our canisters. This allowed us to get seven days into the canisters. We carried, as I previously mentioned, two days outside of the canisters, which is why we had to get to Rock Creek on the first day to use the Bear Boxes there.
Atop Mather Pass, we saw a solo woman who was moving fast. She flew by us on the descent but ended up camping near us and we chatted. Her name was Jessica Runyon, from Lake Tahoe – a friend of our friend, Hans Florine. She was attempting the Sierra High Route. She decided to bail because of the consistent nasty weather each afternoon.
Speaking of nasty weather, once again, we got the tent up just in the nick of time. This time it was raining as we set it up and had to jump in, packs and all. We rested in the tent from 2:30 to 4:30 p.m. and then got out and explored the area around us. It was so beautiful. I especially loved the creek that tumbled from a small waterfall just above us. I followed that stream up to a talus slope and thought its course was so exquisite that I convinced Sheri to hike back up there with me. It was as if the most creative water element designer had designed it. And I guess that’s true. Mother Nature designed it. Well done, lady.
Saturday, July 31st: Day 7 – Starr Camp
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Water Course Exploring Strava
The next morning, we descended the Golden Staircase, which was the last piece of the JMT puzzle. Muir Pass was also discovered late and that was where we were headed on this day. Muir Pass is so big (nearly 4000 feet), that we wanted to break it up over two days. This would be our first day without going over a pass.
We descended for six miles and then climbed up to LeConte Meadow, where we had lunch in the shade on some logs. LeConte, by the way, was one of three key people to discover the route of the JMT. Just before getting to LeConte where there is a ranger cabin, we ran into a couple of rangers. They were interested in the bear we’d seen the day before. I showed them the video I took, and they recognized the bear. It was also the only time we had our permit checked. We only saw rangers three or four times.
After lunch, we had a difficult, steep climb up to Starr Camp. I finally got there, a small flat area before the trail climbed again, and set up our tent next to other campers (Skyler, Kate, Katie, Sean). It was the only time we were so close to other campers, save for our first night at Rock Creek. They were very nice, as was everyone we met on the trail.
Minutes after Sheri arrived the rain started. Then it became hail. And it was a torrent. After an hour I looked outside and saw a small stream running directly under our tent. We were swamped. Sheri looked out the other side and noticed her backpack was floating.
An hour later, when the rain stopped, we stepped outside to inspect the situation. Our tent was in the middle of a mini lake. Unlike the comedy skit the Four Yorkshiremen, we really did live in a lake. And we got up and cleaned the lake. We tried to drain it by digging trenches to lower ground, before giving up and moving to a paper bag. Well, actually, we just moved to higher ground.
Sunday, August 1st: Day 8 – Muir Pass
Strava
It was a cold night, Sheri didn’t sleep well, probably because it was her turn on “Leaky” again. We were hiking on our usual schedule, though carrying a soaked rain fly and even a damp tent. We had 2000 feet still to climb to Muir Pass (11,995 feet), but the angle is very gradual and it went smoothly passing Helen Lake before the pass and Wanda Lake after the pass. These lakes are appropriately named after John Muir’s daughters.
It was chilly and windy at the summit. We took a break to rest, eat, and inspect the shelter constructed there, but headed downhill soon after, seeking the sunshine we could see in the distance. We descended into the amazing Evolution Basin. We’d heard about this area from southbound hikers. Some called it their favorite place on Earth, including our new friend Jessica. It did not disappoint.
We took three extended breaks here. One up high by a small stream on a patch of grass, mainly to get water. Further down we spent 45 minutes by the stream which now flowed down slick rock, mostly just a foot deep. I spread out the fly to dry and we soaked our feet in the cold water. The sun warmed us, and I could have spent hours there. But we had to move on if only to see more of the basin.
At the far end of Evolution Lake, we broke for lunch and spent 90 minutes on the banks. It was so nice. I felt so dirty from all the tent time forced on us because of the rain, that I couldn’t resist stripping down and going for a swim, mainly to clean off. The lake is quite shallow here and I could walk out pretty far and still have it barely over my waist. This shallow depth kept the temperatures, while still cold, quite reasonable. I was shocked when even Sheri went for a swim. She has a strong fear/dislike of water, ever since her big brother permanently scarred her psyche over Jaws when she was a kid. She won’t venture into the ocean without serious coercion. So, voluntarily entering this lake was a big step for her. I credit it to the crystal-clear water and her overwhelming desire to be cleaner. This swim rejuvenated both of us.
As we were packing up, we heard someone call, “Is that Bill and Sheri Wright?” I was shocked. We were in the middle of the Sierra. Who could know us? It was my sister Brook’s friend Sabrina Naftel. Brook told us she was out here, heading the opposite direction as us, but I’d forgotten. We were off the trail, at the shore. If they hadn’t stopped to look for a campsite, they’d have just walked on by without seeing us. Another happy coincidence.
We continued four more miles to McClure Meadow and an idyllic site by the stream, completely alone. We washed each other’s hair, completing our cleansing. I felt reset. We watched a beautiful sunset from the rocks along our creek.
Monday, August 2nd: Day 9 – MTR resupply
Strava
Sheri was refreshed the next morning, probably because she slept on the good pad, but also because our packs were much lighter now. We'd stop at the MTR (Muir Trail Ranch) today to drop off our trash and pick up four more days of food.
We had to cover over 11 miles to MTR, but it was almost completely downhill. We admired all the beautiful, slick, white granite protruding on the ridges above us, but also that made up a significant portion of the stream beds we'd pass on this entire route. Such smooth rock reminded me of Toulumne Meadows and is unique to the Sierra. If I was blindfolded and transferred to these mountains, I'd immediately know I was in the Sierra.
A hiker we met, after learning we were from Colorado, asked, flippantly, "What are you doing out here?" True, Colorado has great mountains, but we were out there specifically because they were different mountains. In general, the Colorado Rockies are higher, rockier (duh), and wetter. The great weather of the Sierra is one of the biggest draws and, indeed, we had perfect weather every day, all day, from our eighth day onwards. That's not unusual in the Sierra. That's nearly unheard of in Colorado.
The other significant difference was that we saw few large animals on our trip. One bear, one coyote, and just a handful of deer. Maybe we were just unlucky. No bighorn sheep, no elk, no moose, no mountain goats. And a lot fewer flowers than you'd see in Colorado.
Besides the smooth white granite, the most telling sign that you are not in the Rockies is the huge trees. Oh, and the glaciers. While these aren't that prominent and certainly nothing like in the Cascades or the Canadian Rockies or Alaska, but Colorado is essentially barren of glaciers.
We arrived at MTR before 2 p.m. We retrieved our bucket of food and, while charging our phones, got rid of our trash and repacked the new food. The Lays Stax chips were the highlight of the cache, as we’d forgotten we'd put these in. They were gone by the next day.
Most of our food worked out great. We loved our macadamia nuts, peanut-butter pretzels, raisins, and Skittles. We brought string cheese and hard cheese and they were delicious, especially with the beef jerky that even Sheri enjoyed. The highlight of each lunch was peanut butter spread on a small tortilla. We had lattes each morning and I'd usually have Poptarts and Sheri would have a Bobo bar. In general, we brought too many bars. I didn't eat a single one and we gave some of them away at the MTR. Each dinner was a dehydrated Mountain House meal and we enjoyed each one, though Chicken Alfredo Fettucini and Mac 'n Cheese were two favorites.
Originally, we weren't sure where we'd sleep, but we'd learned from another hiker that we could camp right at the MTR. But it was hot and dusty and had some flies. It was still early in the day, so we decided to continue and camp at the first site we came upon. This started the most unpleasant hiking of the entire trip.
The next suitable site was five miles away up the hottest, most mentally difficult climb of the trip. We rejected a couple of sites before settling on a dry camp (no nearby water) in the woods. We knew it would be dry, so I carried three liters of water (6 extra pounds) for the last mile and a half. We ended up just a mile below the Sallie Keyes Lakes, but we were beat. We'd already done 16 miles and over 3000 vertical feet.
We had no view for the first time on our trip. We were in the woods and all we could see were the trees, but we didn't see much of them, for it was late. We made dinner, ate it, and then retired to the tent for some greatly needed rest.
Tuesday, August 3rd: Day 10 – Seldon Pass
Strava
Tired from yesterday, we did only eleven miles the next day, but it involved probably the most beautiful pass of the entire hike. Approaching Seldon Pass (10,910 feet), we climbed in short tiers and then along beautiful lakes. First the Sallie Keyes Lakes and then Heart Lake. We followed lush green grass and shrubs and trees, always along a clear stream. Since the pass was relatively low, we had trees all the way to the pass. Plus, we climbed entirely in the shade, hitting the sun only at the summit, where we took a nice break to strip off clothes, apply sunscreen, and have a little snack while marveling at Marie Lake below us. This lake looked like it was designed by Walt Disney. It has islands and isthmuses and coves and pinches and so much shoreline. Above were interesting and manageable peaks. In my mind, I played out fantasies of taking my grandkids here (if I ever get any) since I couldn't go back in time to take my boys here. It would be a paradise for any outdoor child. And to those adults with childish ways... I envisioned treasure hunts and mini-expeditions.
One of the new approaches we took on this trip was to take lots of breaks. In the past, I've always been driven to "just get it done." I've been driven sometimes by weather, sometimes by an unreasonable obsession with time, and sometimes to have more relaxation time after...getting it done. That said, especially with heavy climbing packs, I've suffered through long, hard approaches. On this hike, with a 45+ pound backpack and doing 14 miles a day, it would have been a daunting chore each day. But we took breaks every two miles. Sheri would lead for a mile and then I'd lead for a mile and then we'd take a break. Early in the day, the breaks would be short, but then each one would get a little longer. Only having to go two miles before dumping the load off my back, made the entire day very reasonable with no suffering. Even steep climbs weren't that bad because I rarely hiked for more than an hour without a little rest. Our pace was generally very relaxed. We really took the time to "smell the roses." It was great to experience the mountains in this new manner. While this style was primarily driven by Sheri, I fully embraced it. Frankly, it opened my eyes to the joys of a slower pace. In many of my past climbing adventures, at a particularly beautiful spot, I'd remark, "I need to come back here someday and just be here. Hike up here and read a book or daydream and just sit. Instead of racing the weather up a climb." This was really my first time doing this. The toughest part was that I was passing some incredible climbing objectives for the first time. I was supposed to be doing this below mountains I've already climbed before. It was still great, but it sure had me thirsting to come back in my old style and climb these mountains.
We did another dry camp, most of the way up Bear Ridge -- a thousand-foot climb and 2000-foot descent. It was our biggest climb which wasn't a pass. We knew we were entering a waterless section of the trail and I carried more water up to our camp. We found a really nice spot with an incredible view of the Seven Gables, which is the most prominent mountain in this section of the trail. We'd seen it before, as it was now south of us, but the view had me wondering how many of those seven ridges people had climbed...
We stopped early, after only 11 miles, mainly because the previous day was so hard, but also because no good campsite existed in the next five miles anyway. Sheri took a nap. I read a bunch. In addition to my books on the presidents and the elements, I listened to a book called "What is Life?", which was a very technical book about how chemistry becomes biology. I also listened to Infidel by Ayann Hirshi Ali about her life growing up as a Muslim woman in Africa and her journey to freedom in the Netherlands and the US. I also read parts of other books on my Kindle and this is what I did when we weren't moving. I had books on climbing, programming, and a science fiction story.
After Sheri woke up, I decided to join her in the tent to lie down a bit. While in the tent, with the rainfly off, I was able to see people up on the trail. One guy was descending towards us and I could clearly hear him talking. I looked past him trying to see his partner, but there was none. Then I noticed he had his hand up to his ear. I said, "Sheri, I think that guy is talking on a phone." She immediately sat up and turned on her phone. Sure enough, she had a couple of bars of signal. She read some text messages and emails and sent some too. I kept my phone off. Mostly. I knew there would probably be too much to read. I did download an email or two and found out I had to address a Broncos season ticket issue, which I forwarded to my sister to handle.
We ate dinner, watched the sunset, and went to bed early, per our usual routine.
Wednesday, August 4th: Day 11 – Bear Ridge, Silver Pass
Strava
The next day we were headed for our final pass and it was a big one: a 3000-foot climb up to Silver Pass (10,745 feet). This was a hard climb, not only because of the size, but It was pretty warm and shade was hard to come by. We sought out the shade at each rest stop, even if we had to get behind a small boulder or solitary tree.
My signature move when hiking is to kick a rock and trip. Early in the trip, I was completely avoiding this annoying habit, probably because of the slower pace, but later in the trip, I was back to my usual clumsy ways, doing it about 4-6 times per day. Whenever my concentration strayed to the views or checking the map on my phone or changing the book I was listening to, I'd kick a rock and stumble. I only fell once and it wasn't due to a trip, but a slip on a gravel-covered slab. I fell back onto my big pack and was completely uninjured, though I did dent my fuel canister. It didn't burst, though.
On this climb, we met Kylie and saw her regularly throughout our last days and even at Red’s Meadow. Kylie had started a few days before us but was now going at our pace. She was really nice, as was everyone that we met on the trail. Each person seemed to be so excited about where they were and what they were doing. For most, including us, this was a milestone in our lives and that joy was evident in all of our conversations. We met an older couple (probably our age) that was playing the “license plate” game and found people from 41 states. We saw people from Japan and France for sure and probably other countries as well.
We camped just a couple miles down from the pass at another stellar site, right by the trail, but also right by a beautiful stream in which we could wade. There were enticing walls above us and I thought about scrambling up a talus-filled couloir, but the lassitude gripped me and I gave in to it.
Thursday, August 5th: Day 12 – Tulley Hole, Virginia and Purple Lakes
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The next morning, with the finish line so close, we contemplated going all the way, but it would have been nearly 20 miles. We didn't want or need to finish that way. Instead, we enjoyed some gorgeous terrain and a lot more climbing than we expected. Our maps showed the climb up to Tulley Hole, but then it looked flatish and mostly downhill. Instead, over the course of our nearly 15-mile day, we climbed over 2600 feet.
We took a nice break along the shore of Lake Virginia and, after a significant climb, had lunch laying in the grass around Purple Lake. After lunch, we climbed again, but then started our final descent down to Duck Creek. We took an afternoon break here to eat and fill up on water. We originally thought we'd camp here, but decided to continue so that our final day would be shorter. Plus, it was way too early to stop.
We knew there was a 5-mile section with no water, so I carried some extra. We found a camp, a bit past Deek Creek via my Guthook app, in the woods by a couple of big boulders. We had a tiny drip of a stream near us. It took a while to fill our water bags but it wasn't a big issue. We were isolated in the woods. A deer came running by and was huffing and puffing as I'd never heard a deer do. In fact, I had no idea a deer could make such loud noises. When I first heard it, I thought it must be a bear that wasn't happy. I was glad to see it was just a disgruntled deer instead.
Friday, August 6th: Day 13 – Blow-Down and Finish at Red’s Meadow
Strava
The next morning, less than one minute after boiling the water for our coffee, the fuel canister died. How perfect was that? I videoed it, as I knew we were on the last fumes because it took longer to boil the water. All my USB battery bricks were dead. My Kindle died the night before. All our dinners were consumed. All of our coffee was gone. We'd measured things well. It was time to finish.
Surprisingly, given the warmth the day before and the low elevation (9100 feet) of our camp, this was the coldest morning of the entire trip. After packing up with gloves on, we hiked past frost on the grass. We hiked alone, as usual, for the first couple of miles, but then saw people heading our way, leaving Red's Meadow. Each one said something about the hot breakfast we were headed for. It was definitely on our minds, but still, we ran through the elements and the presidents. We weren't (yet) reduced to only obsessing about fresh food, a soft bed, and a hot shower.
It was less than six miles, almost all downhill, and we arrived at Red's Meadow, our finish, at 8:45 a.m. A short day indeed, but the decision to stop was a good one. We kept to our plan and never rushed (save for the race up Pinchot Pass). The breakfast was good, but underwhelming, especially for $45. At IHOP it would be half the price, bigger, and better. But, ah, the location. It was definitely worth it.
After breakfast, we bid goodbye to Kylie (who arrived there the night before), and hopped on the shuttle bus ($15/person) that would take us back to the Mammoth Mountain Ski Area. Our plan was to then take the free shuttle into town and then the trolley to our hotel. But, our bus was stuck in fourth gear (and barely made it up the steep climb out of there) and needed to be repaired in town. We didn't even need to get off the bus and they took us straight to the hotel where we left our car.
We hopped in our car and drove a half-mile down to Schapp's Bakkery (yes, they spell it that way...sometimes) to meet our friend Greg. We had a second breakfast of coffee, juice, and a pastry, as any good hobbit would do. After an hour of good conversation, we headed east towards what looked like Armageddon. Fires in California, of which we were totally oblivious, were raging and destroying the air quality from here to Colorado. It was an ominous drive home, but nothing could dampen our enthusiasm for our trip. It was an incredible adventure.
Conclusion
This was a great bonding trip for Sheri and I. We got along perfectly. We know each other so well and took care of each other. It bodes well for our later years.
While this is a true wilderness hike, you will not find complete solitude. It wasn't crowded by any means and we were mostly alone. The available campsites aren't remotely filled. This is due to the permit system that severely restricts access to this trail. Restricted access sucks, but once on the trail, we relished the space we had. The JMT is awesome but seems tame and safe compared to remote adventures to be had in Canada or Alaska. It is a great first experience with this type of adventure.
What's next? I'm not sure. We want to do the circuit around Mt. Blanc. It will be very different from this one, but different is good. Not sure what thru-hike is next. This is pretty much the shortest one that probably can be called thru-hiking. And, yes, we already have plans of returning to finish the section we missed. That should just be a 5-day trip and hopefully allow time to climb Ritter and Banner - two prominent peaks we'd been eye-balling on the last two days.
I think we could have done the full JMT with resupplies just at MTR and Red's Meadow. These are ideal since they are basically right on the JMT. Other resupply points take up a complete day getting out to the resupply and back to the trail.
